Zachary Goode The ROOKIE
by XanderInkWaster
Summary: After graduation the Gallagher Academy has ushered in a new breed of spies, but for Zachary Goode the world he is about to step into will teach him that he still has a lot to learn and that in this line of work experience counts more than training. His first assignment goes awry and sets him on the run from two foreign governments and his own in an attempt to clear his name.


**Berlin**

Inside the surveillance van was sticky as the heat from bodies and tech equipment just hung around them. It didn't help that the van was stationary so the AC could not be used, and Charles made it worse by smoking one of his cheap, thick cigars; it's rich smoke turning the cramped space into a Turkish bar. There were five of them crammed in the back of the transit van and unfortunately for them, they were in Europe where vehicles weren't as large.

Sitting nearest the door were two male agents, Burton and Sully who made up Charlie team. Bravo team were already inside the Gala and most certainly having a much more fun night. Bravo team was four agents: Richards, Brooke, Royston and Greer. Each one had a cover for the night. Richards and Royston acting as service staff since they were the two most fluent in German. Brooke, the only other female member of the team, had her backstory as a Swiss Banker consultant, and her partner, Greer, was the Owner of Global International.

Alpha team was made up of Charles, Johnson and Linda. Charles monitored comms where Johnson monitored security with Linda, a no nonsense CIA Special extraction agent who had put her team together specifically for the job. She had spent a decade in the field and had recently been groomed by the current Division head to replace him in several months. There was no malice or prejudice in his choice of Linda succeeding him, but it meant further from the action and further from ground control, which she much more preferred over the political innuendo that ran at the top.

Linda pinched the bridge of her petite nose, which felt out of place on her lengthy slim face and big eyes. Her once rich red hair was noticeably dyed darker and longer as it draped passed her shoulders and settled on her chest. She watched the screens intently for any sign of their target almost as if she was totally hypnotized by the moving images before her. It wasn't until Charles blew out a thick ring of smoke that Linda broke the silence within.

"Charles, would you put that out. Now." Linda's voice echoed throughout, and Charles managed a small huff before stabbing the end of his cigar out crudely and placing it back into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Any more of that Charles, and someone passing might think we are having our own illegal party going on in here," Burton joked at the analyst while checking his sidearm. The joke was shared with Sully, but Linda's sharp eyes told them to cut the antics.

"Bravo One, check in," Linda spoke into the comm, and Richards tapped his ear lightly twice. It signaled he was receiving loud and clear. "Okay team, keep your eyes open for our target, and don't forget to mark his entourage personal. Anyone that poses a threat," Linda reminded them.

"Copy that, Alpha One," came the one-by-one unison of her team over the comms.

"Three car escort arriving, Boss," Johnson piped up, and Charlie team prepped their weapons for some action, but most likely would not get. The plan was for a by-the-book extraction of a target, no complications. Very rare for any to occur with Linda, but she always liked to be prepared. She grabbed her phone beside her and sent a quick text message to their second contingency.

"Target arriving."

A few blocks away, Zachary inhaled and exhaled slowly, maintaining a steady breathing pace. It kept him in a fluid motion, ready to pounce should anything require a fast and immediate response. His green eyes scanned the darkened streets around him as he routinely checked their flanks and blind spots for anything out of the ordinary. In this line of work, it was life or death. Only once he had finished checking, did he turn attention to his superior in the car next to him.

"They certainly have you airbrushed and robotic today," his partner remarked as he lit a cigarette and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Zachary shifted his head slightly toward him. His partner, James, was one of the old breed from the nineties and pre 9-11. His posture was military mixed with an uncaring nature; no ties, only loyalty to his job. A problem because it's all he could hold onto. That and a cigarette.

Though older and most likely less healthy, Zachary could tell James was not obsolete when it came to the action. He had a well-built frame, but was less broad than himself; his hair was the same dark brown like his own, but around the short cropped sides some grey was visible. He probably still dyed his hair often. His eyes were small and piercing, but his mouth, nose and ears were oddly larger. James also had a deeper, throaty voice that most women probably found attractive, and to top it off, he had at least two decades in the field; one of only a few still alive. The life expectancy of Special Activities was low but had a high rate of success on its missions. It reminded Zach of just how expendable his life was.

"Sir, are you sure that's wise?" he gestured with a look at the cigarette.

"Like I said… airbrushed," he laughed through a croaked voice. "Anything unhealthy is frowned upon. I wouldn't be surprised if they demand us to all go vegan in the next ten years."

Zachary turned away and shook his head lightly. After graduating, many of the students, Cammie and himself included, took the opportunity to go into the Intelligence field, but where the girls were already gaining field experience, Zach had been transferred to Special Activities and had to undergo twenty months of advanced training. Twenty months which had been grueling as it was effective. What made it unbearable was that in twenty months he was kept from communicating with the outside world, which eventually proved to show a strain on his relationship with Cammie.

When he had finally passed his training, he was set in stasis until needed but ordered to keep to strict routine to be at the ready; a routine that clashed with his personal life which they had told him would no longer exist. He had talked to Solomon about it and had even told him what Special Activities was as one of many deeper layers buried within the NSA budget. One where clandestine operations were given go-ahead without red tape to oversee them.

Now here he was after three months of idleness. His first assignment. A routine back-up and Plan B mission. A CIA extraction team was close to the target now. His job, or rather their job, was to make sure no ties were linked to the CIA. Should anyone intervene, they would handle it, and should the target become compromised, then he would be eliminated. It was this grey area that the CIA and Special Activities frequently warred on, and with today's world of secret files being leaked to the outside world, the government had increased the use of Special Activities and their jurisdiction.

"First assignment kiddo?" James asked as he blew smoke out his nostrils.

"Yes Sir," Zach replied glancing over at him again briefly before looking ahead.

"Let's hope you get a taste for action then," he carried on and sucked in a fresh dose of nicotine.

"Routine Op, Sir. I doubt this one will have any action," Zach answered with a hint of annoyance. He had read the briefing over three times and memorized every detail where James had only glanced at it and then tossed it aside.

"Rookie," James countered as an attempt to rile Zach.

"Sir, with all due respect, this isn't a movie or novel, so I would appreciate it if you use my name and not movie innuendo to describe me. Clear?" Zach added, not caring about the hard look James was giving him. He turned his eyes from James and shifted in his seat, gambling that James responded well to people who questioned authority with back bone, but remained respectful by not staring him down. Though he could have.

"I like you, Zachary. We're going to get on fine." James smirked and slapped his shoulder while finishing his cigarette.

Zach exhaled a long breath that he had read James correctly, but to help resolve their tense moment the phone buzzed with the text message they had been waiting for.

"That's us kiddo. Get to your position. Go," James ordered, but Zach was already out the car and grabbing the case from the back seat. "Hey, kiddo." Zach looked up at his partner. "Don't freeze. We have our orders should this turn south. Understand me?" Zach nodded and shut the rear door.

He didn't wait for James to drive off to his own position, but was already moving into the building and climbing the stairs towards the roof as fast as he could.

The target was an east Ukrainian arms dealer who went by the name of Omar. He was average height, Caucasian with greying hair. From what Interpol and the CIA had on him, he was responsible for a fifth of the weapons being bought and sold in the Middle East. Weapons being used to arm insurgencies and kill American lives. He was a high value target for someone seeking promotion, but after a decade of trying, law enforcement and international agencies had failed to pin anything on him. What changed was the CIA was contacted by him to strike a deal, but it came with a request.

His defection to the west had to be by extraction. He was trapped and couldn't just simply walk away. Whatever he had was valuable to NATO, but more importantly, the US. With hundreds of contacts and ties to both terrorists, extremists and the Warsaw Pact intelligence, it would paint a target on him to be silenced. So the CIA had to act quickly and get him out while not making it obvious that he had defected. Despite relations with the Russians, they knew Russian punishment for defectors extended even to family members.

"I count seven bodyguards and one...secretary?" Johnson informed as he zoomed in on each member of Omar's entourage. "Bit light on his security, Ma'am."

"That's because he wants to give the appearance of being himself, but not enough to give us a challenge," Linda advised and tapped her ear. "Greer, Brooke; the target is entering the Gala now. Give a few moments before making your approach. Royston, prep the package."

"Yes Ma'am," Royston confirmed his order with a whisper as he handed two beautiful German women their drinks. He slipped a vial from his pocket, the liquid a light blue, which contained a chemical for muscle relaxant. He poured it into a glass of champagne and placed it on a tray for Richards to take towards Brooke and Greer.

Brooke stood near a centuries old painting depicting a violent struggle between two tribes. She knew very little of art and its history, but she preferred it much more over the modern art that had more to do with political meanings than heartfelt emotions and creations. The Art Gala event was held yearly and would be hosted in different countries in Europe attracting all types of people from all types of backgrounds, but the thing they had in common was being rich. It was one of the perks she enjoyed working for the CIA. Getting the chance to experience some rare moments that were separated by class and status.

Brooke had worked a few times with Greer over her six years and was glad to have been picked for this assignment over a rookie named Morgan. It was never easy to prove your worth to Linda, but she had a determination for ambition, which Linda admired and recognized.

She sipped her drink, a watered-down version of champagne that agents used so they would not get drunk. Especially effective since they were only allowed the one glass. She wore an open-back, maxi-style blue dress that stopped at her ankles. A single split on the left side revealed the side and back of her left leg and few men had already taken a few seconds to approach her only to be let down or chased away by Greer if they were too persistent.

Her rich, red hair was also very noticeable even to the point that Greer himself found himself admiring how well she had dressed up. A small smile here and there and the physical contact gave the well-rehearsed impression that they were an item, though neither of them had interest in relationships.

She sipped her unsavoury drink again and watched their target shake hands with the art gallery curator and hostess. Like most arms dealers, he had a suave untouchable approach as if he was the main man in the room. She watched as his assistant, a young Asian woman, engaged in conversation with the hostess, taking down some details as two bodyguards stayed off just enough to not be an inconvenience, but enough to be noticeable.

"Target is now alone; making our approach," Brooke whispered, steadily walking over with Greer beside her as he instinctively checked his tuxedo's button to make sure it was fastened.

"Mr. Kravchenko?" Brooke announced with a soft East German voice that caught his attention very easily. He gave her an appreciative, admiring look. "Anastasia Werner. Allow me to introduce my boss, Alexander Greer," she smiled while introducing them both. Omar shook their hands, but lingered longer on Brooke's than Greer's.

"Do I know you?" he asked in German and a subtle change in his posture saw his two bodyguards take a casual step closer. However both agents remained unphased. Partly because they were unintimidated and partly for their cover to remain oblivious to any noticing security personnel.

"Mr. Greer here is the owner of Global International Bank. We are looking for you to invest your money with us," Brooke conversed with him, her attractive smile and soft accent keeping his attention drawn on her, but Omar was no fool.

"I already have a banker, Miss Werner. One I trust and can control." The last two words acted more as a warning than a statement. Brooke didn't react, but lowered her voice slightly for only him to hear.

"I'm sure you love being in control, and we can assure you that your money and family fortune can be safe with us. After all, we heard you were...looking to relocate," she whispered to him, but had switched out of German to English at the end. She took a half step backwards, and her smile changed to a knowing flash from her eyes that Greer also revealed when Omar looked them both over a second time.

He stood in silence for a few moments as if judging them. His assistant muttered a few words to them both, but a wave of the hand from Omar silenced her and moved his bodyguards back to their original space.

"Maybe I should listen to your proposal," he said with his own smile and gestured with them both to walk with him. His security followed a few paces behind, and his assistant was just slightly behind him.

Zach finally reached the roof of the apartment structure. From his viewpoint, he had a clear view of the service entrance of the art gallery and the escape route. He had chosen this building because it offered a straight line of sight instead of an open line. One where targets could be stacked up should the extraction become compromised making them easier shots that snipers preferred.

He moved across the roof and set the case down. Opening it up, he removed a German manufactured DSR Precision DSR-1 sniper rifle. Most commonly used by GSG9, the German Federal Police elite tactical unit. The rifle was a bullpup design capable of firing a .308 calibre effective up to 800 meters.

Zach assembled the weapon in under thirty seconds and secured the optics on last. He had pre-prepped them to the perfect sighted in, but in the field, a few knocks could offset it, so he had placed it in a separate compartment which was cushioned to prevent it from being knocked with his movement.

"Asset One in position," he notified James he was still driving into position.

"Copy that. Asset two arriving at destination," Zach heard James call in.

Through the scope he watched as James pulled up on the opposite side of the escape route. The extraction team was to make their exit through the kitchen and service entrance. They would drop the target in the trunk of an already parked black Mercedes a few feet ahead of James and drive off. James would follow behind and provide cover while he would provide overall watch and direct the team should anyone try to box or block the route. Finally, once they passed the front entrance, the surveillance van would drive off in the opposite direction. Only when they cleared the danger zone would James veer off to collect Zach and all teams would meet back at the CIA substation inside the US embassy.

"Asset One reporting in, route is clear. No anomalies detected."

"That's good, kiddo. Just don't be giving away too much chatter on the line every five minutes. Germans might be our allies now, but we're still operating outside of the red tape here for not informing them, and I'd like to keep them from knowing," James muttered into the comm, and Zach resisted the urge to back chat him.

"Copy that, Sir," he confirmed, continuing with his job.

A few floors below him, a man clad in all black climbed a serviceable ladder up to the rooftop.

"It seems you have won my interest in your bank, Mr. Greer," Omar laughed and slapped his arm rather heavily.

"Shall we drink to our new investment?" Greer suggested, calling Richards over who had been shadowing them closely waiting to be called. He handed them each a glass and moved away, but before they could toast themselves, Omar's assistant stepped in and stopped Richards.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Kravchenko does not drink champagne. Could you grab us your finest red wine and fill the glass three quarters the way please," she informed Richards who stood motionless as he was unsure how to respond, mostly because she had requested it in German.

Brooke chuckled to save the situation and grabbed the final glass for Omar. "Trust me, Mr. Kravchenko, this isn't like a champagne you have tasted before. I insist." She handed him the glass, and Omar remained hesitant to accept until he realized this was his way out. He wasn't sure how, but if he wanted to live and escape to the US, he was going to have to drink this distasteful bubbly.

"I'm sorry, but-" his assistant began again, but Omar stopped her.

"Maybe on this one occasion I can try something new twice. Why not, after all? New bankers, new tastes," he laughed as he downed the champagne in a single go. He swirled the remnants of the sweet taste in his mouth before placing the glass back onto the tray. He watched as Greer and Brooke simply sipped it before placing their own glasses down with his.

"This will be an investment you will not regret, Mr. Kravchenko," Greer said and offered his hand one last time. When Omar took it, he pulled in close to him and whispered in Ukrainian, "Service entrance through the kitchen. Head alone towards the bathroom, and we'll collect you. You have ten minutes before your body collapses from muscle relaxant," he added, stepping back as Brooke shook his hand one final time.

"A pleasure, Mr. Kravchenko." They both headed for the exit together. Omar's assistant watching them closely with furrowed eyebrows.

"It seems very strange that you would take their offer so willingly, Mr. Kravchenko," she stated to her boss, but he ignored her as his mind began to shift to the reality of the situation and the dangerous move he was about to do.

"I'm heading to the men's room; that champagne was even worse than I remember." He headed off with his guards closely following, but he gestured for them to step back and wait for him to return. Knowing not to question him on why he was being so lax on his security, they stayed where they were. Omar loosened his tie as he began to feel the first effects of the drug.

"Target has been acquired. Moving to our extraction," Brooke informed Linda.

"Target has been acquired. Await extraction. Bravo Two and Three move to intercept. Asset Two, are we clear?" she directed her team and asked James, her voice becoming tenser as things began to move into place. This was the desperate moment to get him out quietly and without a hitch. If it went wrong here, her own career would be finished.

"Alpha One, Bravo is in the clear. Extraction route is Ghost Town. Repeat extraction route is Ghost Town."

"Copy that, Asset two," she said, nodding to Charlie team who jumped out the van to hop into the driver and passenger seats.

Royston and Richards moved and waited for Omar to enter the bathroom. Once he was in, Royston followed while Richards kept watch and made sure no other guests used the bathroom. A few moments passed, and Royston emerged with a staggering Omar.

"Bravo Three and Four on the move. Package is with us."

"Copy that."

Zach was not tuned in to the extraction team's frequency. He had theirs written down, but his comm was linked only with James'. He watched through his scope as Brooke and Greer headed towards the rear of the gallery. His first assignment and it was actually going how it was planned. He smirked to himself as he made a mental note to remind James that he was getting paranoid in his old age. He scanned further up the road and noticed a black SUV with tinted windows and no license plate parked behind James.

Something was wrong.

"Asset Two, Asset Two we have Bogeys in the perimeter," Zach called in the warning, but there was no response to his comm which crackled a few seconds later before he yanked it out his ear. He had a phone to call in, but before he even reached for it, a crunch from broken glass made his hairs stand on end and his danger senses trigger.

The man clad in black rushed forward and wrapped the wire around Zach's neck, pulling hard. He pressed his knee into Zach's back and tried to force him on to the ground, but he had underestimated Zach's height, and the initial advantage of surprise was lost.

Zach reacted quick enough to block the wire with his left hand, but his hand was still pressed against his neck, and the sharp pain of a knee in his back prevented him from using his right arm to strike at his attacker. Thinking fast, he stood up from his kneeling position and felt the knee loosen from his back, the wire pressure letting up enough for him to pull against it.

He kicked backwards with his heel and connected heavily enough that his assailant stumbled backwards losing his grip. Zach spun to face his threat and watched as an Asian man in all black clambered to his feet. Zach outweighed him and was taller by a foot and a half, but this opponent seemed totally unphased by this fact and jumped into action as he let fly with taekwondo kicks and lightning strikes. The first kick was the only one to land as Zach had drawn his sidearm to shoot him instead of entering a fist fight, but now he had no option.

He dodged and stepped back from each strike. A few landed, but Zach's build managed to shake them off easily and he withstood the assault until he found an opening. A high kick to his face was overstretched allowing him to step inside close and deliver his first strike. A sharp and heavy left punch landed on his opponents' jaw that he dropped to the floor. Zach did not let him get back up and finished the fight with a vicious stomp to the back of the neck. The body went limp beneath him as Zach looked around him for his sidearm. When he retrieved it, he put a round into the still body's head for good measure.

He rushed back to his sniper rifle, but just as he grabbed it, an explosion came from the Gallery. Zach froze briefly as he watched the flames rise into the air and disperse into thick black smoke. Picking up the rifle, he looked through the scope and noticed James' car engulfed in flames. The black SUV had its rear door open and two Asian men in leather jackets dragged Omar forcefully across the road. Through the scope he also noticed agents Greer, Richards and Royston lying on the street in their own blood. One agent was still moving. A female in a blue dress. Another female, Asian too, stood over her and fired two shots that Zach could practically feel. Suddenly, a second explosion erupted, and with a quick scan he saw a van burning as people ran screaming.

Zach dropped his rifle, already hearing the sirens in the distance. He stood in shock at how fast everything had changed. His partner, the team he was supposed to protect, the target. All gone. He was alone.


End file.
